


can i try again?

by lamourestout



Category: WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:34:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21586216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamourestout/pseuds/lamourestout
Summary: robbe tries again to reach out to sander. this time, something's changed.
Relationships: Sander Driesen/Robbe IJzermans
Comments: 7
Kudos: 280





	can i try again?

**Author's Note:**

> im greedy and want the reunion and since wtfock seems hellbent on probably not giving it to us until Friday i'm just going to write it myself.   
> i still need to write my 'robbe coming out to senne' fic, but it's assumed that robbe has come out to senne in this. :)

“He still hasn’t replied.” Robbe can’t stop looking at his phone, not since Monday afternoon and his burst of courage to text Sander, to apologize for all the ignored texts. Jens came over, now recruited into an impromptu movie night (movie afternoon.... into movie night…) , hosted by Milan. Jens, who is probably glancing at Robbe’s phone more than  _ he  _ is. 

Or, Jens and Milan could probably rival each other in who is more curious about if Sander is going to reply to him. 

Senne and Zoë seem to have put aside some of the problems they’re having, their differences in how to approach the Viktor Situation. They now sit on the smaller couch, cuddled up with each other. Movie playing on the TV. Robbe can’t even think about it; his mind is elsewhere. 

Sander has  _ seen  _ the messages. At least he’s seen the messages. 

He looks around at everyone; he can see Milan’s concerned look and he looks away, back at his phone. 

Jens is looking at him concerned because he keeps tapping at his phone to check. To check if maybe he missed the notification. 

During school he can push it out of his mind; he’s glad Sander doesn’t go to the same school as him, or he might catch sight of bleach blonde hair and go back to not being able to think of anything but Sander. 

Or he might go up to him and confront him again and force him to tell him the truth even if it breaks him. 

“It kind of seems ━” Jens starts, “ ━ He’s playing you, or something.” Robbe feels his heart sink, his shoulder slouch. “Like, what, you guys kiss and then he gets back with Britt, and then he paints that mural, and then he doesn’t reply? It seems so back-and-forth.” 

“Mural?” Senne asks, and Robbe turns towards him a little. Nervous.

“There’s ━ a mural with my face. Over by the skatepark. Sander painted it.” His voice almost falters. 

“Holy shit.” Senne says. 

“Yeah, holy shit is right.” Robbe agrees, and Jens laughs beside him. 

“It’s on Aaron’s instagram.” Jens offers, and Senne is shifting a bit, grabbing his phone and eventually finding his way to the picture. 

“ _ Holy shit _ .” Senne repeats. “Did you know about this?” He turns towards Zoë a little. 

“I heard about it, I didn’t see it.” Zoë moves a little to look at the picture. “He’s really talented.” She offers up. Robbe nods in agreement. 

Sander is talented. Really fucking talented. He’s fully impressed at Sander’s talent; realism? Robbe could only dream. 

“I don’t know if ━” He trails off, “ ━ The mural seems like a clear message? And so I messaged him and ━ he didn’t even look at the messages until this morning.” 

“Maybe he’s nervous?” Milan offers. Robbe pulls his legs up, tucking them under him on the couch. “Like we talked about?” Robbe looks over at Milan, their conversation after Milan discovered the mural. 

“Maybe.” Robbe murmurs. He reaches for his phone again, tapping at the screen: nothing. He keeps it in his hand now. 

“You should text him again.” Jens says. Robbe looks at him, a look of surprise. 

“I don’t want to push him. Maybe he ━” Robbe shrugs, but can’t make himself say  _ maybe he doesn’t care _ . “ ━ doesn’t want something. Serious.” He vocalizes the fear.

“Ask him.” Jens says. “Straight up. Say ━  _ hey, I really liked the mural. _ ” 

“Wait ━” Robbe feels a little embarrassed, his phone buzzes with a notification ━  _ Sander’s instagram _ . 

“You have notifications on for ━” 

“Shut up.” Robbe mutters, turning a little, falling back into the corner of the couch, and swiping to the post. 

“That’s so cute.” Milan offers, and Robbe shakes his head. Robbe stares at the picture. Scrolls up and down a little, trying to understand. Chews on his lip in thought. 

“What is it?” Jens asks, leaning to look at Robbe’s phone. 

“I don’t know.” Robbe turns his phone, shows Jens the screen. “I just … don’t know.” He takes the phone back, turning the screen off, and pulling his knees up a little more, sinking back into the cushions, letting his phone rest on his chest. 

“Do you want to talk to him? To see him?” Milan asks him, and he slouches more. Because he does. 

“Yeah.” He admits. 

“Ask again.” Robbe lets his head fall backwards. Jens is moving around next to him. 

“Are these song lyrics?” Jens asks after a minute. 

“What?” Robbe asks. 

“His caption.” Jens clarifies. 

“I don’t know.” Robbe says. 

“What does it say? I’ll look it up.” Zoë says, pulling out her phone. 

“ _ I get funny dreams again and again, knows what it means but _ .” 

“But what?” 

“Just that.” Zoë hums in acknowledgement, and there’s a lull in conversation as she searches a little. “Okay, it’s by  _ The Who _ .” Zoë tells them. It makes Robbe smile, because  _ of course _ . 

“You’re smiling, why?” Jens says.

“He loves that classic rock stuff.” Robbe says quietly. Jens gives him a playful shove. 

“Oh my god.” Zoë says, and they all look at her. “Do you want to know what the next lyrics are?” Robbe can feel his heart skip a few beats, his stomach churns. She’s looking right at him. He nods after a second. “So, it goes **but** _━ can't explain, I think it's love, try to say it to you when I feel blue_.” Robbe’s hand clenches around his phone. Everyone is quiet. 

“What should I do?” He asks. 

“It’s up to you.” Milan says. 

“I don’t know what to do.” Robbe says. 

“If you want to talk to him, you have to say. Put yourself out there.” That sparks a bit of conversation, the others talking over each other what to do, what to say, how to message. 

Robbe opens Instagram back up, back to the image. Back to the sketch, the lyrics. Holds his phone with one hand, the other playing with his lips. Takes a deep breath, tapping to send Sander’s post back to him, doing his best to recall what Zoë said, goes back to typing with two hands, quickly adding,  _ “can’t explain, I think it’s love _ ,” and sends it. 

And then realizes he should probably add more, so he’s quick to navigate to his messages, adding, 

**Robbe** : i came out to my friends. 

**Robbe** : i still want to talk. 

**Robbe** : i like the mural. you were right about the intense color.

**Robbe** : tell me when you’ve broken up with Britt. 

Maybe he says too much. Maybe he’s pushing. He just doesn’t want Sander to think he doesn’t care. 

“I sent a message.” More like five, but … technicalities. 

“What’d you say?” Jens leans over to look, but the phone screen if off. 

“I just ━ sent him the next lyrics, I sent what Zoë said.” Robbe tells them. 

“Just that?” Zoë asks.

“And ━ I said I want to talk. And I said I like the mural.”

“He’s an artist, he’ll like the compliment about his art.” Zoë says. Robbe does hope that Sander will care more about the fact that he wants to talk, but whatever makes it so they can talk again. 

Because he misses him. A lot. He misses how warm he felt when Sander was at his place. Misses how gentle Sander was when they were out together, despite what happened.  _ Despite  _ what happened, and the just barely healed cut on his face, and the just faded bruises. 

The sound of the movie fills the room. 

His phone buzzes after fifteen minutes of the movie playing as white noise. It startles him, and everyone notices. 

“He replied.” Robbe says. His hands are shaking: he can see the beginning of the message, but he barely registers it, swiping to read the whole message.

**Sander** : what are you doing now? we can talk. 

“What are you doing now? We can talk. ━ That’s what he said.” Robbe relays the message. 

“Oh my god, tell him to come here.” Milan says, “I want to meet him.” Robbe lets his phone fall to his lap, pushing his hands through his hair. 

“What do I say?” 

“You want him to call ━ you want to be straight up, though. Just ━  _ chilling at home _ .” Jens tells him. 

“Chilling at home?” 

“Yeah,  _ chilling at home _ .” Jens repeats. Robbe chews on the inside of his cheek before grabbing his phone again, swiping to open.

“Okay. Chilling at home.” Robbe says, typing it out. 

Sends it. 

Stares at the screen for a minute, but no  _ seen _ comes up. No typing bubble. 

“He’ll call.” Jens seems sure. Robbe drops his phone back into his lap, and leans back, watches the movie; he hasn’t been paying attention the whole time, so it’s lost with him. 

Sander doesn’t call. Robbe checks every goddamn minute. Jens watches as he keeps checking. 

It takes twenty minutes for something to change, for bell to ring at the door. 

“I bet it’s him.” Milan says. They’re all frozen. 

“We’re leaving.” Zoë takes charge, standing up, “We’re going out.” She grabs Senne, pulling him off the couch. Senne groans, but follows, and Jens is standing. 

“What if it’s ━” A silent  _ what if it’s Viktor _ . 

“We’ll have to go past him anyway.” Senne says, and his face hardens a little. If it’s Viktor again, Robbe is pretty sure Senne will hurt him this time. 

“Fuck ━” Robbe mutters, and looks down at himself; he’s a mess. He’s been wearing the same hoodie for like three days, he only changes his pants when he goes to sleep. He knows there are bags under his eyes, and he’s pushing at his hair, trying to sort it out. He sits up a bit.

“You’ll be fine.” Jens says, and ruffles his hair.

“Fuck…” He mutters again, and has to straighten it again. “I look like shit.” He says.

“You look  _ fine _ .” Jens says. Stands up, “You’re  _ fine _ .” He repeats, and Robbe looks up at him. Nods. 

“Milan, come on. I’ll buy you a drink.” Zoë says, and grabs at Milan’s arm. “Come on.” 

They’re all making their way to the front door, pushing around to get shoes on, get their coats. 

“Text me later, tell me how it goes.” Jens tells him, and Robbe can’t get himself to follow them, to stand right in front of the door until they’re all gone. So he stands in the doorway, staring down the hallway, watching them make sure they have phones. 

There’s tension in the hall as Senne opens the door, and a deep release of tension when Robbe sees familiar bleach blonde hair, black jacket, Sander’s boots. 

“Hi, Sander. We’re just leaving.” Zoë greets him and says goodbye in one breath, one hand on Milan’s arm, the other on Senne’s, and she’s dragging them out. Jens gives Sander  _ the nod _ , and slips past him. The door is still open, resting open and Robbe takes a few steps forward. Their eyes meet, as Sander takes a step into the apartment.

“Hi.” Robbe says quietly. He walks closer, and he feels underdressed, understated, awkward. But everything feels a little better, because it’s  _ Sander _ standing in front of him. 

“Hi.” The lighting of the hallway makes it hard for him to really see properly, but Sander’s face, his eyes, the still healing bruise on his face reminds him of what Robbe sees in the mirror every morning. 

He doesn’t know what else to say. He can hear the others going down the stairs. It echoes in the stairwell. 

Sander stares at him for a minute, before reaching behind him to close the door behind him. He leans back against the door, hands behind his back. 

He could just kiss him. It feels like time is standing still, like he has all the time in the world to wait and decide what he wants. 

Time is standing still, they’re standing there, looking at each other. Standing there, after Robbe’s  _ we should talk _ , and all Robbe can think is how  _ much  _ he missed him. His previous sentiments still ring true; he wants to know  _ why  _ Sander did what he did. He wants to know if it was his fault. 

Time is standing still, and he’s trying to decide between asking  _ how have you been?  _ Or  _ why did you do that to me?  _ Or  _ are you okay?  _ Or decide between kissing Sander or just hugging him tightly. 

Because Sander’s face mirror’s his own; mirrors his tiredness and downtroddenness and exhaustion and pain. And he’s tired of being hurt and tired, and it hurts even more to see  _ Sander  _ look like that. Even if Sander hurt him. 

And Sander stares at him. As if he’s waiting for Robbe to make the move. As if he knows that he has to wait for Robbe’s forgiveness before can make a move.

Robbe’s already forgiven him. He doesn’t care. If Sander has finally broken up with Britt for good, he doesn’t care. He wants to be with Sander. 

Robbe wants to talk, but his desire to make Sander not  _ look so empty and tired _ is winning over, and he’s taking quick steps forward, blind courage flashing through his veins as he pushes up on his toes a little, leans in to meet Sander’s lips -- Sander, who meets him halfway, moving as soon as he realizes what Robbe is going to do. 

He kisses Sander, lips pressed against his, and he can breathe again. His hands find familiar blonde hair, threading through it right down to the roots, and Sander’s hands are on his face, pushing forward a little. 

Sander bends a little, and Robbe can fall back to the flats of his feet, and Sander drops one arm to wrap around Robbe’s waist. 

He feels safe. 

He pulls back, and Sander’s lips follow his, his eyelids fluttering a little. He stares at Sander another moment, a minute of listening to his breath, watching his eyelashes on a shadowed face. Sander doesn’t open his eyes. Robbe lifts his chin, pushing himself up enough to press a kiss against the high of Sander’s cheek, under the lingering bruise. 

Sander’s breath seems pushed out of him. Robbe’s wrapping his arms around his neck, burying his face against Sander’s neck, and pulling him as close as he can. Sander’s other hand finds its way around Robbe’s waist, and Robbe stumbles a little, feet falling over feet to get as close as he can. 

Robbe’s hands clench tightly in the shoulders of Sander’s jacket. 

“I can explain everything.” Sander speaks into Robbe’s shoulder. 

“I know.” Robbe’s already forgiven him. He’s already forgiven him, even if he wants to hear the explanation. He wants to know what  _ happened  _ that changed things. 

Time stands still as they stand there, hanging onto each other in the entryway of the flat. In the low, dim light of lamps in the living room, the light of the kitchen seeping out. 

Time stands still as Robbe pulls back, lets his hands unclench from the fabric, and find the sides of Sander’s face, and Robbe can feel a smile creeping onto his face, as Sander opens his eyes, looks at him. 

And Robbe has to kiss him again, has to push forward and kiss him. 

And kiss him and kiss him and kiss him, and one hand drops to the lapel of Sander’s jacket, and he tugs a little, tugs and say, silently,  _ my room _ . He doesn’t know where he’s expecting things to go; wherever they end up, he’s happy. If they just talk all night? Perfect. If it’s something more? Perfect. 

It’s Sander. 

It’s Sander, so anything is good. 

Sander’s hands stay on his waist, and he tilts his head to kiss Robbe better, and they slowly stumble over each other’s feet, over the miscellaneous things in the hall, and a bit into Robbe’s closed bedroom door, Robbe’s back pressed against it; he doesn’t want to let go for a second to reach behind him and fumble with the doorknob. 

But he does, turning a little away from Sander’s lips, pushing the door open as Sander presses his forehead against the side of Robbe’s face. He’s trying to catch his breath as they tumble into his room, as Sander presses kisses against his jaw and they get the door closed. 

It’s quiet in his room; the street downstairs drifts sound upward through Robbe’s cracked open window gives background noise that’s non-disruptive. 

They slow a little. Robbe kisses Sander again, and it’s less forceful now, less of the  _ fuck, I’m glad you’re here _ , and more of a gentle,  _ oh, you’re here.  _ **_You’re here_ ** _. It’s just me and you.  _ Their lips move slow against each other’s. 

Time stands still as they kiss slowly in the middle of Robbe’s room. Time stands still, even as Robbe pushes his hands under Sander’s jacket, pushes it off his shoulders, and Sander shrugs it off, tosses off of his arms. 

They find the bed, scrambling backwards a little, and Sander’s boots probably leave melting slush on Robbe’s covers, but he doesn’t care. He can wash the sheets later. Sander’s head falls against Robbe’s pillow, hair messing up as he moves around a bit, and Robbe’s settling himself between Sander’s legs, and he just wants to be  _ close  _ to the other boy. 

They’re in orbit of each other; that’s a normal day -- they’re in the orbit of each other, the same city, the same social group, the same, same, same but never really touching. 

But now, they’re crashing into each other; an asteroid crashing into another asteroid, binary stars whose orbits are collapsing and they’re slowly becoming  _ one _ , gases and fire and color blending into one tremendous flash. 

He’s settling between Sander’s legs, the other boy lets his knees bend a bit, knees pressing a little against Robbe’s side, and he’s falling against him, and they’re kissing again, trying to be as close as they can with their layers of clothes on between them. Sander pulls him down, arm around his waist, and Robbe hardly has thoughts of breathing, hardly has thoughts of anything but kissing Sander. 

Sander’s here.  _ Sander’s here _ . With his black jeans and his bleached hair, and his soft smile, and his beautiful eyes, and he’s  _ here!  _ He’s laying in Robbe’s bed, and he’s pulling him closer, and he’s kissing him, and  _ fuck _ . 

Sander’s here. 

It’s all Robbe can think about. 

He pulls back, and Sander’s eyes are still closed, lips parted just enough that Robbe can see the tip of his teeth, his eyelashes are dark against the softness of his skin, and he’s  _ here _ . 

Whatever happens next, Robbe swears to himself, he’s not letting him pull away. They’re doing this together. They’re in this together. 

Sander’s eyelids flutter open. It makes Robbe smile. Smile so wide that he thinks his lips might split, because he’s  _ here _ . 

Sander’s lips turn into a smile, and god,  _ god,  _ he’s  **_here_ ** . He’s beautiful and talented and  _ here _ . 

He kisses him again. 

Talking can wait. 

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr is @evenbchnsheim :)) & i'm 100% writing a second chapter/part to this where they talk bc why wouldn't I


End file.
